


Lacuna

by Janekfan



Series: Geraskier Fun Day [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Caretaking, Exhaustion, Fever, Fluff, Geraskier Fun Day (The Witcher), Insecurity, Like too soft, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Recovery, Sleep, petnames, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24053218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan
Summary: A blank space. A missing part.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Fun Day [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681084
Comments: 12
Kudos: 178
Collections: Geraskier Fun Day





	Lacuna

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to go in a completely different direction.

"You should have sent for me." Jaskier waved his hand weakly, barely lifting it from the heavy quilt all but holding him in place, eyes closed and the hectic flush of fever still high in his cheeks. 

"Now who's being dramatic?" Hoarse. A whisper drifting on a tired exhale. 

"I shouldn't have to find out through rumors." Geralt growled low under his breath and Jaskier, done in as he was, could still make out the concern veiled thinly as threat. "That the." He paused, lips a thin line, until Jaskier taunted him. 

"Go on. Say it for me, darling." 

"White Wolf's, shut it." Jaskier laughed hard as he was able and it left him wheezing such that Geralt propped him up to help him catch his breath. "That _my_ bard is waiting for death in a backwater inn."

"He'd take offense to that. S'hardly backwater." 

“So you don’t deny the waiting?” Geralt spoke quietly, slipping in beside and kicking off his boots before tugging Jaskier under his arm. The healer assured him the worst was over, that his chest was clearing even if the witcher’s enhanced hearing could make out the crackling in his lungs, like dry twigs crumbling under Roach’s hooves. When they’d parted weeks ago the poet had a persistent cough that he’d claimed was nothing. Clearly.

“Can’t send for you over every little thing or you’d have no time to walk the path.” Geralt breathed through the fist tightening over his heart, imagining Jaskier; his strong, beautiful bard, reduced to languishing here alone after stumbling into the pub and knocking over several chairs and a table in his collapse, ever the performer. He could shout at him later, and by the wry smile gracing his pale face, knew Jaskier knew he very well would and planned to take advantage of his peace while he had it.

“You are no little thing, songbird.” Geralt stroked his face, testing the heat there under his hand and feeling useless in the face of it all. “I would have wanted to know.” Whatever they now had together, it was new and fragile and Geralt was all too aware it was he who had planted that insecurity in his poet. Jaskier loved deeply and completely, giving and giving a seemingly endless fall of affections, and overwhelming him in a wholly different way. With a small hum, Jaskier wriggled deeper, coughed lightly when he shifted, sliding down so his head was in his lap, demanding silently that Geralt pet his head and who was he to deny him this small comfort? 

Jaskier wasn’t asleep, just absorbing the warmth of his witcher, drifting along with the abnormally slow beat beneath his ear. He didn’t even know what day it was or how many had passed. Only remembered his keen want of Geralt, sharp as a blade and just as painful, as he struggled under unfamiliar hands, alone, confused and so _frightened,_ but frightened further by what his neediness would mean to the witcher. Safe to say, he wasn’t thinking clearly by the end. 

“I know I can be.” He swallowed, only desire at the moment to stay here until the end of time and he whined when Geralt’s fingers stilled in his sweaty hair. “A lot. At times.” He sighed. “All the time.” And rubbed away the moisture welling in his eyes with a clumsy fist, so wrung out he didn’t have the energy to be ashamed. “I’m sorry for that.” 

“My lark-” 

“I know.” Jaskier let Geralt thumb away the tears, blushing crimson when once started in earnest, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I wanted to.” Burrowing closer and closer, there weren’t enough words to describe how badly he needed to be as near as he could be. “But I thought.”

“Hush, now.” And gods. Geralt was being so kind it made his head swim, light and soft, floating, exhausted, as he gentled him as he might his horse. Jaskier took it as the compliment it was. “You’re tired, sparrow, you need rest and when we wake, you will eat.” 

“S’long as you don’t cook it.” Damp lashes struggled apart, afraid that Geralt might disappear. That this might all be a fever dream. 

“Cheeky.” The witcher slid smoothly down to lay beside him, wrapped him up and kissed away the tracks lingering on overwarm skin. “I’m here.” 

Pressed lips curled into the smallest of smiles to each stubborn, heavy eyelid.

Tucked him beneath his chin and dropped slow kisses into messy hair until Jaskier finally gave in to sleep.

“I’m here.”


End file.
